


hand of god, deliver me

by imnayeons



Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: F/F, basically the egoist mv, somewhat just prose, sort of based off it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 15:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14452110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnayeons/pseuds/imnayeons
Summary: she falls; olivia’s never been good at holding on.





	hand of god, deliver me

**Author's Note:**

> stream of consciousness with a slight plot. still very vague and probably very difficult to understand (i swear i'll start writing for audiences and not myself someday). basically, olivia's fall/based around the egoist mv. (title from mystery of love by sufjan stevens)

[이제는 너 아닌 나를 좀 더 사랑 할거야, 살아 갈 거야]

 

i. 

It starts out with a bang.

Just like all the good stories do. 

The feathers all around her. The mattress underneath her like a cloud. Or maybe a cloud. Her mind is drifting around, and she seems to be grasping at mist. 

Petals. On her. Decorating her like she’s some kind of sacrifice. Pretty, she thinks, before she feels them. Flowers only feel good if they’re not crawling under your skin, is what she learns. Which is what she’s currently experiencing.

She’s barely able to move her limbs at all, and when she does she feels those thorns press against her skin like glass, thin and unforgiving. Cries. Begs, with no voice—the vines narrow against her throat. The blood running down her neck. 

Tears don’t really clean all that well, she finds. Her bones fraction off little by little. It’s okay. Somehow the rain will wash her down again. 

 

ii. 

There’s no hand on her anymore. She’s so used to the feel of skin on skin that it’s almost more painful to leave that behind than the actual heat through her paper thin flesh. It’s useless to touch anything that burns, she knows this. 

Skin so soft like silk. Golden coin on a knee, flicking, playing until lungs fill up with laughter. Hair so soft like velvet. The ocean around them, the sky under them, the holiness under her fingertips. 

She’ll deliver the bread until the end of the world just to see such a bright smile. Even like this, so splintered, she never forgets. Teeth like ivory. Lips that deliver the breaths of autumn, and summer, and spring, and the rest of it all. Lips so soft like snow. 

Eyes rimmed with gold. Mouth with a ruby tongue. 

She misses it. More than anything on this Godforsaken earth. The ground feels like it’s pulling her in. The ground feels like it wants her to belong.

She feels sick to her stomach. Wants to reach a hand inside her and pull out whatever’s making her feel like this. Wants to feel those cotton soft hands on her again, wants to drag her lips across, wants to throw herself off the edge, _wants_. The only word she’s known besides break this whole time. 

 

iii. 

It comes in bursts. 

Her sight is gone. In its place the visions, oceanic. Pulsing, slow, slow, _fast_.

It shakes her, how quickly everything changes. One minute she’s dirt black, the next she’s in limbo. Floating so close to the thin, breakable glass. Just a finger’s length away from it all. She almost sees flowing, silken robes through the mist, entranced by the redness of those lips and— 

Her hand’s sliced open quicker than a blink. _Ouch._ Obviously without the verbalization. Because that’s too much and she knows it. One strike and then you’re out. 

Everything around her switches places. Suddenly the room is red. Suddenly she’s upside down. Suddenly the moon takes over the sun in a spectacle of fury. 

She feels that same fury within her. Except it’s reaching, always reaching, because the tunnel never ends. Not here.

The world comes back. There’s a barely there humming, white and static. It feels like everything that used to be in her came out. She feels it in the rocks, in the tumbling ocean.

It’s not _fair_ , she thinks. It was the wolf inside her that made her do it, anyways. 

 

iv. 

She’s learned to live in the dark. Even if she reaches for the sun at any chance she gets. She doesn’t know if it’s in hope for forgiveness or an attempt to kill.

The pain boils through her sometimes, like a pot of steaming water. Out and up. Down and with. But no she has the range of the world to use, so all of this running through her she can put in under the dirt. Deep where it belongs. 

It’s like this. Because there’s always some sort of moonlight reaching out. She’s learned it doesn’t matter the placement anymore. The map will always reach you, some way or another. 

Now she takes it in, covers herself in ink. This is where it ends. There’s no going back. 

It’s all here now. Like a kiss from her to the dark. 

If she’s learned to live like this, with the blood on her hands and feet and eyes always, then she’ll live on. 

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> you've made it here nice job. i'm on twitter @egoistjpg and tumblr @4nayeons! come yell at (with) me about girl groups!


End file.
